


Accidentally (A Love Story)

by thekatcameback



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Shameless fabricated NHL get together, sorry I'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekatcameback/pseuds/thekatcameback
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Boobs!" Patrick Kane screams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, don't even ask me. The entire process of writing this thing started with "ha ha ha / poor tom gilbert / such a woman" and then Brent Seabrook developed a narrative voice. Title and hugs are from bkm5191 in this reply to a post. ... Funny ridiculous with.... girly bits? Also, a million thanks to backcheck who literally read every word of this for me and also made me imagine Khabibulin partially clothed. This story is for her.
> 
> Also, none of this is real. Takes place in the 2008-2009 season. The phrase "Jonny's breasts" is used without irony. The secondary pairing is Brent Seabrook/food. .... Also, gay.

Brent wakes up on the kitchen table the morning after a totally awesomegasmic team party. To his left, the clinking of Patrick Sharp preparing a cup of coffee. Near his feet, Soupy retching near the meat keeper of the fridge. Brent thinks, ha ha, you found the old roast beef, stirs restlessly. He's pawing a hand over his eyes and whimpering at the sunlight when he hears a scuffle in the next room.

"Boobs!" Patrick Kane screams.

Brent falls onto the chair and then lands in a ninja-crouch on the tiled floor, dashing for the living room where he last saw Kaner. Kaner is still there in his Indianhead pajamas with his hair all artfully tousled, but there's also a very pretty girl next to him, clutching a t-shirt to her chest. Brent catches a glimpse of two really smooth bare shoulders and blurts, "What are you doing getting intimate in the living room, Kaner, you're like twelve."

"I'm not--" the pretty girl starts to say, standing up to her full height. She looks really familiar, but Brent can't place her; he's too busy guiltily hoping that her jeans are going to fall further down her hips, because they're already looking really loose and her stomach is very athletic and god, he's only human, and also massively hungover.

"So I fell asleep cuddling Tazer, because you know I get lonely at night and sometimes I just need someone to hold me and tell me that everything's all right--"

"I don't remember doing that," the girl says.

"And I woke up and instead of Jonny's angry monkey morning-after face there were boobs." Kaner, like a kid who's just now learned how awesome the word is, repeats "Boobs!" even louder, and adds a broad arm motion to accentuate his point.

"I woke up a girl," the girl says. While Brent blinks and Kaner giggles, the girl simultaneously wriggles into her shirt and looks reproachful. 

Brent would recognize that face anywhere. He squints and leans a little closer. "Jonny?"

Marty Havlat interrupts by wandering in shirtless, with a splendid rack. "So I'm a girl," he says.

"Exactly," the girl who might be Jonathan Toews sighs. Brent tries to make a sound but nothing comes out.

Someone guides him to a couch, but his belated questions go unheard under the soundtrack of Kaner loudly listing female body parts and Duncan Keith repeating, "Can't deal, can't deal," like a mantra. Someone convinces Marty to put a fucking shirt on and Brent's brain starts moving again, just enough so that he can check out the arches of Jonny's eyebrows from where he stands across the room.

"Okay," Jonny says, all businesslike, and his voice doesn't even tremble. "Now, who's," and he puts his hand up in demonstration, "kind of altered?"

Marty's hand shooting skyward makes interesting parts bounce, and a grouchy Russian babushka lifts her hand just a little. From the back of the group, Duncan Keith lets out a broken sob. 

"Three, then," Kaner says. "I've seen this before--maybe it's like that movie. You know, It's a Boy Girl Thing."

"No, in that one they switch bodies, it's not a spontaneous--" Jonny freezes when they all turn to look at him. "I mean," he finishes.

"We watched it like twenty times on our guys-only weekend," Kaner chirps, oblivious to Jonny's glare. "Jonny cried."

"Fuck off," Jonny sighs. He folds his arms and Brent smiles approvingly, hauls himself up to his feet. As long as everyone is still reacting to Kaner like normal, it'll end up okay. He pats Jonny on the shoulder on his way into the kitchen. No coffee, no Pop Tarts--Brent contemplates the possibility that this whole thing is signaling the coming of Armageddon. In Family Guy, they still had junk food after the apocalypse, but it's hard to say what'll come of the whole global warming thing.

When Brent wanders back into the living room, he thinks he can hear Duncan crying in the corner, but he's a little bit distracted by the fact that he is still hungover and afraid. "Should we get a team breakfast?"

"Maybe we should call the coach," Khabi snaps, "to let him sort out all you fools." Brent tries to take him seriously but he's really not hot, so Brent's eyes drift away from him and back to the Duncan Keith Corner of Sadness.

New girl Jonny is over there, awkwardly rubbing circles into Duncan's back and saying, "It's going to be okay, you know. Please don't hyperventilate." Brent thinks, gosh, Jonny's a super guy. Then he double takes because Jonny is now also kind of pretty and, like, pint-sized. (Still bigger than Kaner. But itty bitty at the same time.)

Duncan reaches out and wraps Jonny up in a big sad hug and mumbles something like, "You smell really nice."

"Hey, wait," Jonny says, "are you a girl too?"

 

***

 

Brent takes responsibility for one of the cars when they all head over to the rink for the inevitable Emergency Team Meeting. It's safer to keep his eye on the road than to watch Marty tug down his shirt, then bounce, then tug down his shoulders and repeat the motion. Jonny, strapped securely into his favourite pair of jeans with what looks like a bungee cord and a long piece of packing tape, claims shotgun. He looks a little pale, which makes his eyes seem blacker, and really complements the hair lying against his neck.

Brent keeps sneaking glances because he's scared that Jonny, who seems a lot thinner in pretty much every observable way, will slip away if unnoticed. It doesn't help that Jonny hasn't spoken since his first attempt at leadership, choosing to jab away furiously at his Blackberry instead. Brent knows from the recognizable furrow between Jonny's brows that he's really just playing Tetris, but it's still awkward to be so pointedly silent when they're pretty much alone. (Behind them, Kaner has fallen asleep against the window, and Brent has come to the realization that, since he can never look Marty in the eyes ever again, he'd better just pretend that Marty isn't sitting there in the backseat and filing his nails like nothing is wrong.)

Coach Q, Bergevin, and Haviland are waiting in the parking lot, which really makes the reality of the situation sink in. Brent parks crookedly across two stalls in order to be the first one out, which is kind of a wasted effort because no one else seems to be moving. He opens the door for Jonny, just to be appropriately gentlemanly, and thinks of doing the same for Kaner and Marty, but they've both already shuffled their way past the coaches and into the building. Jonny stands directly in front of Q, squares his shoulders.

"Hi, coach," he says. His voice sounds like it belongs in a Disney movie, now that it's a little higher and all trembly from hiding how weird the situation is. Q's mustache twitches to the left and he nods solemnly.

"Lookin' good, Tazer," Haviland says, as he reaches into a box at his side and draws out a slim, paper-wrapped oval, pressing it into Jonny's hand with a well-meaning smile. Brent watches Jonny go ghostly pale, feeling confused. Is it a hand-packed fruit roll-up? Jonny jams it into his pocket, nearly shoving his pants off his hips with the motion, and nods tensely before he steps away.

"So, like, what was that?" Brent asks, jogging to keep up with Jonny.

"Nothing," Jonny says.

Behind them, Khabi yells, "What the fuck do I need a tampon for?" Jonny bites the inner corner of his lip, which Brent recognizes because of the deep dimple in Jonny's cheek. He looks back at the coaches and Khabi, before turning back to Jonny.

"Will you need a tampon?" he asks very quietly, as they enter the locker room.

"I'm going to vomit," Jonny moans. He drops down in his locker space, wriggling back far enough that it's hard to see him from the side. Brent pats his hand sympathetically and goes to his own cubby. He doesn't want to be too close when Jonny loses his lunch, or it'll make Brent barf too. That would be gross.

"So you're women, now," Q enunciates calmly, when everyone has assembled. He leans back on his heels a little, arms folded tight across his chest. He doesn't look nearly as surprised as Brent feels. "Well."

Before Q can continue, Bergevin jumps out from behind him, throws two handfuls of confetti in the air, and yells, "Congratulations!"

Brent feels his knuckles creak as Duncan grabs his hand in a vise-grip. Duncan holds his breath until his face goes purple, then sobs into Brent's ear. "Jesus Christ," Khabi groans.

"This reminds me of the '96 season," Bergevin says happily, and Q's mustache quirks slightly upward again. "Best two weeks of my life." He reaches into his pockets, flings another two handfuls of confetti.

"Man, now I'm totally jealous," Burish whines. Brent strokes Duncan's hair awkwardly and crosses his eyes in Burish's direction. "I'm never going to be a girl. Hey, if anyone's looking for a friendly shoulder--"

No one actually hits Burish because he looks pretty serious about the friendly part, and also because there's no way anyone would ever take him up on it. Brent can't hear the rest of Q's conciliatory speech over the sound of Duncan's heavy breathing, so he just slumps down and sighs. There's a big pantomime over who should do what, featuring a lot of arm waving from Kaner, and finally the coaches retreat back to their offices. No one moves to head out, probably because there's nowhere to go and the whole situation seems less fucked up within the safety of the dressing room. Brent stays in his spot until he can once again discern the normal roar of conversation over Duncan's litany of protests against the universe.

Halfway through the strenuous exercise of watching Sharp and Burish argue across the room about the proper way to treat a lady who was previously a gentleman, Brent realizes that Jonny is gone. What if, he thinks with dawning horror, turning into a girl is just the first step to becoming invisible? He starts inching to the left, trying to get out of Burish's line of sight so that he can go on a Captain hunt, and runs his ear right into Kaner's nose.

"Dude," Kaner whispers. "Funniest thing ever on the ice. Ever."

Last time Kaner told Brent that something was the funniest thing ever, it had been Brent's own favourite pair of Spongebob boxers hanging next to the retired players' banners. Brent hadn't actually found it funny, so he's hesitant this time. Trying to talk out of the corner of his mouth, he says, "What is it?"

"So Tazer is trying to skate, but Tazer has girl balance now, so he's all, woooooah, and falling around and stuff. And I think he punched something. And it was hot."

Brent exclaims, "Down with tactful retreats!" He leaps to his feet, and bolts to the bench entrance. (Behind him, Sharp says, "What?" and Burish says, "Dude, the proper response to a statement like that is 'Pardon me,' and Sharp hits him.) Jonny is indeed on the ice, dragging behind him a stick that comes up pretty much to his nose and wearing a pair of skates that must be at least a size too big. Brent is fully prepared to stage a rescue operation, but Jonny must have overcome the balance thing and is now just skating slow circles around the Hawks logo.

"You're a quick learner," Brent says, skidding out to join him in just his awesome deck sandals and Underarmour. "I mean, I heard--"

"Don't mention it, huh?" Jonny says. His stick clips Brent as he skates past. "It's just skating. It's not like I woke up in a bathtub full of ice with two incisions in my sides."

"What?" Brent asks.

"Kidney thieves?" Jonny prompts seriously.

"Woah, yeah, that is a good thing," Brent says earnestly. "Because, like, kidneys are important."

"I would be dead by now," Jonny deadpans.

"Okay, is that a real thing?" Brent asks nervously, hands at his sides as he follows Jonny back to the bench. "Don't mess with me on this!" 

Jonny shoots Brent a look that is recognizable even through those newer, softer features, kind of amused but mostly just concerned about Brent's mental health. He trips over the gate entrance and heads down the hall with a nice little swing to his step. "Jonny? Like, seriously, okay--"

Brent follows Jonny like a lost puppy for the rest of the day, because he's afraid to let Jonny out of his sight and also because Brent needs to prove that he's a Good Guy who is There For People. That's how they end up in Jonny's apartment, not looking at each other and trying to be chill. 

Brent is still lingering on the kidney thing, because wouldn't that be the most awful thing ever? So when he finds himself dabbing at Jonny's swollen knuckles with a washcloth and trying not to hold Jonny's wrist too tightly when his buddy flinches, he repeats, "So do people actually--"

"I was making a joke," Jonny says solemnly. Brent peers at his face, but Jonny is focused on his own hands. It's a relief, even if Jonny isn't laughing (Jonny doesn't laugh at a lot of his own jokes, which is too bad, because if he did, Brent would know they were jokes and laugh too), so Brent lets out the nervous chuckle he's been holding in all day. The next time he looks up, he's pretty sure that Jonny's gaze has shifted minutely to Brent's own hands, still dabbing away, and Jonny is smiling.

Brent feels something important in his chest relax. "Want a Pop Tart?" he asks earnestly. Jonny leans his head on Brent's shoulder and sighs. Brent gives him the last brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tart.

 

***

 

It's kind of like back in Jonny's rookie year, before Brent understood any of Jonny's funny little social cues, but they still spent their entire lives together. Brent follows Jonny like they'll get lost if they stray too far apart, and Jonny just kind of--lives with him. Literally and figuratively, because Brent had arrived home from the first day of boys-only optional practice to find Jonny sitting in the middle of his couch with an overnight bag next to him.

"I figure you needed the company," Jonny says. He's right.

Brent can tell that Jonny's totally not upset about this girl thing, but Brent kind of is. At least until he watches Jonny and Kaner wage a wing-eating contest, and then he thinks that even hot girls are kind of disgusting, and not something to be worried about. He's just, like, keeping an eye out, doing the right thing, that's all. That's the only reason he happens to hear a very congested Jonny head down the hallway to the bathroom. After like seventy Kleenexes must be exhausted, Brent gets up so he can get his good buddy the Sudafed. Jonny's eyes are kind of red, too.

"Visine?" Brent asks, reaching up over his shoulder to the medicine cabinet.

"God, Seabs, not now," Jonny chokes. He smears at his big pretty girl eyes while Brent peels back the Sudafed foil and passes over the pills. "Seriously, not now," Jonny says firmly.

Brent hesitates and waves his hands around a little before trying to repackage the medication. On his third attempt, Jonny picks the gelcap up from the table and folds it back into the plastic and foil. His hands kind of tremble and Brent hears himself swallow. "Wanna, like, hug?" he offers.

"Yeah, okay," Jonny mutters. He doesn't move, so Brent just folds his arms around him snugly and breathes into his hair.

They stand there until Brent's legs start to go numb, and Jonny's shaking turns into a kind of sad puppy-dog shiver. "Wanna go to bed?" Brent asks. Jonny shakes his head, which is still pressed against Brent's nose, so he gets the communication. 

"Wanna...order pizza?" Another head shake. Brent sways them gently left, then right. 

"Wanna watch Karate Kid III?"

Jonny groans, barely audible, and nods. "Come on, then." Brent frog-marches them into the den and puts the DVD in. Jonny is on the couch, still scratching at the wet lines on his cheeks, so Brent also gets a wet cloth and two beers before pushing play.

Brent wakes up when Jonny falls half off the couch with a thump. "Ugh?" he mumbles. Jonny groans in response, scratching just above his ear and making his hair stand up higher. "Table," Brent observes. "Floor."

"Fuck you." Jonny scrambles back up onto the couch, knees on either side of Brent's hips. Brent feels his heart skip a beat, but figures he's mostly afraid that he's going to get punched. 

Jonny straightens his clothes and runs a hand through his hair, then pushes halfheartedly at Brent's stomach. "Move over," he mutters. "need the middle."

Brent scoots over until Jonny's sideways between his side and the couch cushions, wriggles a little until he gets his arm wedged around Jonny's back to keep him from meeting the same messy fate. Jonny's lashes press against his shoulder, so he can feel them flutter as Jonny drifts back off, breath evening out into a steady hot spot on Brent's bicep. 

"Jonny?" he whispers. There's a soft sigh a moment later. "Hey, Tazer, are you awake?"

Jonny's arm settles over Brent's waist and he snores once, very quietly. Brent swallows and stares up at the ceiling, because he's totally never going to get any rest like this. When he opens his eyes again, it's morning.

 

***

 

"My pants don't fit at all," Jonny announces over breakfast on the third morning of their re-cohabitation. "It's kind of driving me nuts."

Brent tries not to brighten visibly, but shopping trips with Jonny are awesome and shopping trips with girls are awesome, so the entire situation sounds like a good day for him. Jonny puts on his smallest t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants that balloon out over his legs, and they head downtown.

The first seven outfits that Jonny tries on are approximately a billion sizes too big. He's also managed to find the only pair of pants in the store that are plaid and cargo-cut, with zip-off calves and the kind of belt that was probably stolen from a life jacket. 

"Wow," Brent whimpers. Jonny puts his hands on his (super duper nice, but currently enveloped in a bunch of olive green fabric) hips and waits. "You know, actually, I think it's going to be too cold for shorts soon, so you don't want to be in a situation where--you could end up in shorts. Outside. Like, if the zipper breaks."

"Do they make me look fat?" Jonny asks seriously.

"Yes!" Brent blurts, hugely relieved.

The poor salesgirl offers to measure Jonny up and Brent squawks in protest, because that's like--kind of inappropriate. He grabs one pair of every size of pants instead, and stands guard until Jonny finds jeans that fit (and they have flowers on the butt pocket, which is like a built-in excuse to stare). Then they go through another stack of shirts, and Jonny eventually stops looking like a kid dressing up in the BFG's clothes and starts looking like a delicate flower. Brent hides his relief behind a huge double thumbs up.

Then Jonny finds the skirt rack. "Should I get one?" he asks, holding it up over his torso. "Girls wear skirts."

"Sure, you have great legs," Brent says, then covers his mouth.

Jonny gapes at him. Brent holds himself totally, completely still, because if he makes a move to cover his vital areas, Jonny could lunge and kill him with his brain.

"I'm going to try this on because it looks professional," Jonny says finally, cold as ice. He stalks to the changing room and the salesgirl rushes back and forth, offering samples of tastefully pinstriped, knee-length gray skirts. Brent hides behind a clothes rack and peeks over. And he's right, Jonny does have really hot legs.

"I'm asking you what you think because I respect you as a person," Jonny announces, studying himself critically in the mirror.

"You look empowered," Brent offers cheerfully, hands jammed in his pockets.

"I want to look good in interviews, since I'll be giving a lot--uh, representing the team in this--situation. And everything." Brent nods enthusiastically, and flashes his best you're-the-captain-and-I'm-afraid-of-you smile. Jonny visibly relaxes, so that the lines of his small fists are no longer razor-sharp.

"You could wear skirts all the time and everyone would respect you. Uh, all the time. And, uh."

Jonny shoots him a look that is simultaneously bland and wrathful. Brent is not distracted by the fact that he's also smoothing his hands over his awesome butt. He offers to pay for all the new clothes, and gets another eyeroll before Jonny promises to let him buy his new teeny-tiny skates.

Jonny also takes advantage of Brent's manly muscles, and Brent feels like he has a girlfriend when Jonny makes him carry all the shopping bags, which is kind of cool because Brent has trouble getting girls who will hang out with him in public. He's trailing behind, watching the flowers on Jonny's butt, when he realizes Jonny's speaking.

"We're going to the barber's now," he says. Brent stutters and Jonny glances back at him, rolls his eyes. "Haircut?" he elaborates, with a flick at the end of his ponytail. It bounces nicely. Brent gapes.

"Okay, okay, wait but--" and he jogs until they're side by side. "What if you change back and your hair changes shorter too. You'd be, like, bald."

"It'll grow out," Jonny offers.

"Yeah, but--but what if it--grows longer?" Seabs asks. A strike of brilliance hits him and he bounces his next two steps. "Okay, you've read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, right?"

Jonny is educated, so he nods and raises both eyebrows. "So there's this one part," Brent plunges on, "where they eat this stuff and their hair keeps growing. What if you cut it and your hair gets longer! And then--and then, you'll have to do more stuff with it."

Jonny's eyes go big and round and scared-looking. Brent presses his advantage. "I knew this girl who played hockey and she had to french braid it so that it wasn't a safety risk."

"But--" and now Jonny's clutching that hair protectively. "I can't--"

"I'll do your hair for you! I have a big brush at home. It's rounded so it'll be gentle and we can cultivate your natural curls. And you look really nice with your hair up. And down. Or half up? Because you're really pretty. Handsome."

"I guess I'd look pretty funny with the haircut I had," Jonny admits.

"And you look even better now," Brent adds and, with a stroke of genius, concludes, "Who even knew that was possible!" 

It takes him eight hours, until they're back at home and he's forcing Jonny's hair into different lines to get braided, to realize that he might have a vested interest in this thing.

"Could you stop pulling?" Jonny asks him through a mouthful of Pizza Pop.

"Your hair is really slippery, dude." Brent pushes three bobby pins into the current plait and tries to simultaneously hold Jonny's head still and untangle a sports-friendly super grip elastic from his wrist. "But you're going to be super hot when I'm done."

"I just want to go to bed at this point," Jonny sighs.

Brent puts on his best Dire Situation face, even if Jonny can't see it. "I have to learn how to do this sometime." He scrambles for another minute, using the last of a row of bobby pins, and then leans back to survey his handiwork. Jonny has three-and-a-half french braids on his head, starting with a very wide one on the right side and leading to one that's actually just a twist of hair held in place by an elaborate system of pins behind his left ear. "Voila!"

Jonny carefully feels around his head and nods. There's a pause and he says, "Uh, thanks, buddy. Good work."

"I'm only going to get better at this," Brent adds delightedly. Jonny, still with a hand resting on his hair like he's afraid it's all going to spontaneously fall out, stands and claps a free hand on Brent's shoulder.

"Good effort," he says in his captainly voice. Brent tucks a stray piece of hair behind Jonny's ear and watches him head upstairs.

 

***

 

Brent is shaken awake from his afternoon nap to find Jonny's face too close to his own. "Guh?" he mumbles.

"Move it," Jonny says and throws his favourite pair of sweat pants at him. "We have to go to the police station."

"I didn't actually steal it, Sharpy said I could have it. And it didn't even taste good. You can't arrest someone for taking food, this isn't Aladdin," Brent says immediately.

"Khabi's in jail," Jonny replies, seemingly willing to ignore his protests. "You're coming with me, because I'm afraid we're going to have to carry him out and I can't do it alone."

"Yeah," Brent says, hopping after Jonny and pulling his socks on. "He is kind of fat."

It's lucky for everyone involved that he's driving, because Jonny drives like a little old lady and Khabi would probably die before they made it to the station if he was behind the wheel. Brent parks crookedly in the nearest free stall and climbs out. Across from him, Jonny is hastily patting down his hair and arranging his shirt and jacket.

"Let's move," Jonny says. It's just like Mission Impossible, or NCIS, or maybe Law & Order, so Brent tucks his hands in his pockets and swaggers. He wishes he had black sunglasses to whip off as they enter the building, but Jonny would just say that he watches too much TV and it was overkill. Instead, he leans one elbow on the desk and waits for Jonny to do the fast talking.

It's a surprise when Jonny runs a hand through his hair so that it lies all pretty and tousled, and rises up on his tiptoes to lean his forearms flat on the counter. "Hi," he says. Brent didn't know he could make his voice sound that nice. "I'm here to pick up my--my grandmother."

There's another bit of leaning. Brent guesses Jonny might be hitting on the policeman, and also that it might be working. "The angry Polish lady?" the officer asks, smiling.

"Russian," Jonny replies solemnly. Brent hopes he's just on his tiptoes because he'd be too short to be intimidating otherwise. "Sometimes she refuses to take her meds, but I swear, we just left her for a moment when we went to buy her a treat from the convenience store--"

Jonny puts on the flustered face, which works on everyone, even Q, and the officer doesn't stand a chance. He tries to look reproachful as he says, "Ma'am, your grandmother was found shirtless in the men's washroom at Denny's. She also had three bottles of liquor."

Brent grimaces, but Jonny just tilts his head like a total pro. "I promise it'll never happen again," he says. His apologetic smile doesn't even look forced, and the policeman sighs. "How much do we owe you? Anything to get poor Nana back home with her Choco Taco."

"This better not happen again, ma'am," the policeman sighs.

"She's really old," Brent offers. He thinks of adding, she'll probably die any day now, but Jonny kicks him in the shin abruptly. "Did you throw out the liqour?"

"It was a birthday gift for my boyfriend," Jonny adds. "I'm so, so sorry--" and he pulls out like five credit cards. "We'll triple our guard."

"I'm her boyfriend," Brent adds brightly. From the hallway, he can hear Khabi's inarticulate Russian noises of rage. The officer's face falls a little at this new information, but he helps Jonny process Khabi's release papers and gets him out of the cell. Khabi, in his oldest game-day suit featuring a poorly buttoned shirt, glares at them and folds his arms. Jonny goes so far as to hug him and take his hand hard enough that Brent can hear someone's joints pop.

"Let's go home--Nana."

"I hate this country. Fucking fascists. Everyone needs to piss," Khabi mutters. "Where's my vodka? I paid good money for that. Fuck you, mister--" and Brent takes his cue from the frantic climb of Jonny's eyebrows to scoop Khabi up and carry him out the door. By the time Khabi has hit him, like, a lot and claimed shotgun, Jonny is hopping down the station steps.

"That was a super close call," Brent says, leaning against the door of his truck in his best imitation of Grissom from CSI.

"I hate everything in my life," Jonny retorts, but he hauls Brent down to face level and kisses his cheek. "For the cop watching," he says, and then climbs into the driver's seat himself. Brent's face is on fire with happiness as he closes the door and inhales the rich Chicago air.

"Are you getting in, motherfucker?" Khabi yells.

"You're on your own next time, Grandma," Brent says happily. He takes the middle seat so he has extra leg room and leans his hand against Jonny's headrest just because he can.

Fortunately for Khabi, he's one of twenty NHL-ers who have been arrested in the past several days. (Brent personally thinks that Andrej Meszaros would have stolen that car and driven up to see Christoph Schubert even without the uterus factor.) The closed-door coaches' meetings become more and more frequent, and then the rumour starts to float around that a conference may be necessary. Brent hears that it's girls-only, then that it could be a voluntary thing, then that it's mandatory for the entire league. Then he decides he's going no matter what they say. 

Brent gets the message the way he usually does; Jonny forwards him a text message from Q.

"Really? Arizona?" Brent asks from across the room. Jonny looks up and shrugs. "Arizona sucks."

"You suck, Seabs," Jonny says, but he's smiling. "Get packing."

The flight leaves early on a Tuesday morning, and Brent sits next to Jonny as usual. (As usual, it's not all that interesting, because half the guys are asleep.) The nice change is that Jonny, despite the suit and tightly fastened hair, can't seem to keep his eyes open. Brent watches Jonny's lashes flutter for a few minutes before he drifts off, head curled awkwardly to rest on Brent's shoulder. Brent awkwardly tries to lift and straighten Jonny's neck without waking him, before finally settling on jamming his shoulder under Jonny's cheek and resting his own head against Jonny's.

He always misses the landing, doesn't really come back to things until the plane door has opened with a woosh of hot air. Brent thinks of himself as on presidential security duty when the plane lands in Arizona (so not the best place to have a hockey conference, what the fuck) and he steps out behind Jonny in all his awesome girl-suit power.

"Why the fuck are we here again?" Khabi whines from behind him. "Keep moving, Seabs, fuck."

"This is the only place they could book enough hotel rooms for all of us," Jonny says, loud enough that they can all hear him. He makes it down to the tarmac and turns to face them with his hands on his hips. "Do I have to remind you that we're ambassadors of the Chicago Blackhawks organization, and we're here to help find a solution?"

There's a droned mix of yesses and nos, depending on who answered what question. Brent flashes Jonny finger guns of encouragement and grabs both their bags. They get to stay on the good floor of the hotel, the one with the ice machine that works and a full vending machine. Brent has opted out of rooming with Duncan for once (not because he doesn't like Duncan, but because he gets a little nervous about the constant sobbing), and ends up with Sharp.

"Shouldn't you still be with Bur?" he asks when he drops his bag on the bed. Sharp looks up from the TV guide, and Brent spends a horrible moment wondering if crying Dunc would be preferable to crying Sharp.

"He thinks he's going to be too busy getting laid to share a room with someone he likes, so he agreed to stay with Soupy," Sharpie explains. His voice trembles a little bit, so Brent sits next to him on the bed and rests a hand on his knee.

"Hey, what he's saying is that he doesn't want you to feel abandoned because he's having so much--uh, sex--so he made sure you got a good roommate!"

Sharp rolls until his back is facing Brent, and stays pointedly silent. Brent shrugs and heads back out to find himself a refreshing drink of caffeinated Mountain Dew. He learns that the Oilers have rolled into town when he opens the door to the ice room and gets a face full of acrid smoke. It's an obvious distress signal. "Kaner?" he coughs.

"Sammy didn't even hug me hello," Pat sighs. "My life is over. Do you think we're having a lover's spat?"

"If you set off the fire alarm, Tazer is going to be super mad at you," Brent points out, settling next to Kaner on the floor. "I bet he's just uncomfortable in the pants at how attractive he finds you."

"I've always been this attractive," Kaner whines even louder.

"Maybe it's because you smell," Brent amends.

"You smell," Kaner retorts petulantly, but he no longer looks like he's going to rock the soda machine until it falls on him. Brent squeezes his shoulder supportively and stands back up. 

"Tazer was talking about going to the rink again," Kaner supplies without being asked. "Do you think that Mike Richards bought a bikini for the swimming pool? Because I've always wanted to play water chicken with Mike Richards."

"I don't get paid enough to talk about this with you," Brent replies flatly, and bolts for the elevator. The Phoenix rink is pretty much dead silent (ha ha, Brent laughs to himself, nothing new there!) except for the crisp sound of blades on ice. He peeks around the visitor's gate and sees Jonny racing for the puck against an even smaller, dark haired man-chick.

"Gags, dude," Jonny whines and Brent decides that if he were as pretty as Sam Gagner, he probably wouldn't hug a douchebag like Kaner either. They lose the puck somewhere along the way, and Brent cringes when Sam runs Jonny into the boards. There's a lot of pushing and something that sounds dangerously like giggling, then Jonny topples over, knocks Sam ass-over-teakettle, and Brent thinks he witnesses a butt grab.

He inches backwards in top stealth mode, because there is no way in the entire universe he can put into words how happy he currently is. Inappropriately happy. He backs up further, runs into a solid mass, and turns around. Then looks up. And does not retch.

"If you wanted to find your bag, I think they are laid out over there," Chara says, pointing. He looks like Gumby with boobs. Brent ducks under his big ugly arm and flees with an awkward gait.

 

***

 

Brent expects Kaner to be the one to summon him to the annual semi-incestuous Hawks-Oilers young people get-together. Kaner always picks the place in Edmonton and always makes Jonny do the reservations for their Chicago meetings. (The place is always Chuck E. Cheese.) So it's a total surprise when he sees Burish's name on his phone above the texted address and time.

Brent calls him back. "What're we eating?" he asks.

There's a long, long pause, then Burish sighs, "Same usual bullshit."

"Are you packing for the first whack-a-mole round?" Brent asks, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

"Dude, no fucking way!" Burish snaps. That indicates that he's stressed out. Brent makes a little sighy noise to indicate his displeasure, but stays silent. "Anyway, it's now a hit-a-frog game," Burish continues. "And I need you to get there with me. And Jonny. Please, okay?"

"Please!" Brent echoes, abruptly wishing that he was recording the conversation. Talk about a twilight zone; his best friends are now female and Burish is saying pleases and thank-yous without prompting.

"Okay, I'll level with you, yo. Okay." There's a long pause, a heaving breath. "So I was kinda dating this person and they've changed and now I want to cop a feel on Gilby. Who I was dating."

"So, wait, are you like gay, or--" Brent asks. "Because I'm cool with that. You know something? I have lots of gay friends. Like Kaner, ha ha ha."

"Seriously. What if he's still a homo." Adam sounds sad.

"Okay, dude, we'll go with you. But you have to buy me two games of whack-a-frog," Brent says firmly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay, uh, I know you're a man, but I'mma treat you like a lady."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still imaginary. Ducan Keith almost gets laid. Jonny's breasts are still present. Sam Gagner does some dance moves. People drink and possibly have sex. Steve Yzerman.

The cab ride is dead silent except for the driver's foreign-language radio and Burish cracking his knuckles one at a time, over and over. Jonny leads the way to the group where Kaner and the Oilers are already gathered, and Brent makes sure to check them out just to get a handle on the scene. Kaner is wrapped around Sam Gagner in this stupid chaste hug, which means he's high and Gagner might be too. Gagner's friends, gathered in a big pack, are also mostly girls. Pretty enough girls, though. Brent recognizes Ladislav Smid hovering at the edge of the group, grinning like he's won the lottery, as well as Bobby Nilsson, looking a little silly but actually kind of hot in heels.

"Welcome," Nilsson proclaims. He shoots this cocky grin like he knows exactly what he looks like all dressed up. Jonny waves, accepts a hug from Andrew Cogliano and an ass-pat from Nilsson.

"We made reservations, right?" he asks, opening the door. There's a rumble of agreement, and Brent catches sight of Burish squaring his shoulders and moving into the group. He takes this as his cue to mingle; he grabs half a pizza and finds himself sitting with his arm around Jonny's shoulder in a child-sized booth. 

By the time the first batch of food is gone, everyone has loosened up, even Burish, who is saying to Tom Gilbert, "Dude, can I like--" and makes grabby hands at chest level. 

Gilbert glares and rolls his eyes, folding his arms. "Just this once, because we're man buddies."

He also flips his long blond hair behind his shoulder, which, now that Brent thinks about it really hard, looks a lot like his long blond hair when he was a dude. Brent blurts out, "You're really pretty."

"I am so disgusted with you right now," Jonny says.

"What I mean is, you're almost as pretty as Jonny," Brent adds nobly. "But you're taller. So I noticed it. And, uh."

"You don't get out much," Gilbert offers drolly. His posse of ridiculous looking people snort and Jonny elbows past him to stalk off towards the food counter. He's not actually walking harder than usual, but Brent can tell that he's not impressed.

He trails after Jonny, trying not to look sad, and pays for his game tokens. "Okay, look," Jonny says, and Brent is temporarily relieved that Jonny's hands are both full of tokens or he would totally have them on his hips again. "I just want to be alone right now. You go chase some skirts."

"Tazer, it's not like that--" Brent tries to explain, but Jonny stalks off to play driving games with Sam. Brent hesitates, feeling kind of like a tool standing in the middle of a pack of small children by himself, and then heads over to the games area listlessly. He doesn't get any points at the shooting game and he's way too skilled for games of chance, so he winds his way back to his trusty old friend. The flashing lights above the frogs distract him from the fact that he's not entirely sure what he did wrong back there.

"I just want to say that I really like you as a friend," Smid's voice pipes up solemnly. He reaches past Brent to whack at one of those stupid frogs with his palm, and the board lights up and spits tickets out at them.

"Dude, thanks, I was so going to miss that one!"

Smid smiles all big and open at him, rocks back on his heels and shrugs. Brent decides that he likes this guy. "I am happy to help. Hey, is Khabi single? I like older chicks."

"I fucking heard that, motherfucker!" Nilsson yells from the ball pit. Brent has been studying him, and figures that his two objectives of the day are to make a five-year-old cry, and to slide face-first down the twirly slide. He kind of likes Nilsson as a person, too. He shrugs at Smid because he's scared that if he says anything, they'll get into a lover's spat and Nilsson will throw a ball at his head. The mothers in the area glare and cover their kids' ears.

"Hey, it's okay, girls are super crazy stuff. That is why I like them so much," Smid says, slinging an arm around Brent's shoulder and steering him back to the tables. Brent looks around out of habit, hoping that Kaner isn't groping any of the statues or anything. "Isn't that your girlfriend?" Smid continues, right in his ear.

Brent jumps and spins to follow Smid's pointing finger. Jonny and Sam are up on the stage with the robotic performers. Gagner is bobbing up and down like he's in an oom-pa-pa band, and Jonny is doing--

"Is that the robot, or is he raising the roof?" Nilsson asks from the general vicinity of Brent's elbow.

"I don't have a girlfriend!" Brent protests meekly.

"I think it's the sprinkler," Smid offers, and right at that moment, Brent realizes that maybe he'd be down with kissing Jonny. But not here, because that would be creepy.

His reverie is broken by Kaner doing his very best Lil' Peekaboo and sneaking up by ducking beneath tables. "Dudes, dudes, we were playing hide-and-go-seek, right?" Kaner asks. "Because I think I just kicked your asses so hard you gave up looking for me." He raises his arms above his head. "I am the god of hide-and-go-seek!"

Smid shoots a reproachful look at Nilsson, who just shrugs. Burish chooses this opportune moment to emerge from a door marked "Staff Only" with a disheveled Gilbert in tow, and Brent's brain stops working long enough for everyone to have reassembled before he gets over the red mark just below Gilbert's jaw. Jonny's arm slides through his until their elbows are locked, and he smiles up at him. There are matching pink lines across the tops of Tazer's cheeks, and his lower lip is all swollen up from the lip biting that comes with some hardcore dance moves.

"I volunteered your room for a movie," Jonny says, and gives Brent a squeeze. That's definitely a Jonny apology. He smiles up at Brent a little bit and leans his shoulder in. Brent's stomach flip-flops and Jonny holds onto him like this whole thing is kind of a big deal. Brent is so happy that he doesn't mention to Burish that he caught his shirt in his zipper during that obviously rushed re-dressing job. Jonny makes Brent all classy and nice and stuff.

 

***

 

Brent is not sure where his shoes went. He is also missing one sock, and when he tries to speak, he has to form his words very carefully in his mouth. "Hey, buddy," he says, clutching at Jose Theodore and possibly leaning on him too hard. "I am drunk. Man, drunk as a skunk--"

"I can tell," Theodore says, pushing at him gently. Brent scuffs his bare foot against the hotel carpet and grins at him. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Oh, yeah, I should find my teammates. My best friends, actually." Brent straightens his body with great effort and wonders why the room is listing dangerously to the left. "Do you know where they are?"

But Theodore is gone, and he's talking to a lampshade, which really makes him wonder about the nature of things. Brent turns slowly and catches sight of Jonny, thank god. He's perched on someone's knee and Brent shuffles closer, mostly curious. As he drifts into earshot, he hears, "--and I have my own disco ball hanging over my bed. It is fucking rad."

Ovechkin.

"I don't know," Jonny replies, seemingly oblivious to the big ugly leer spreading across Ovechkin's face. "I just think that it's important to have a clean breakout pass, you know? As important as individual skill is, at the end of the day you just want to know that those are the guys you can go home with."

"You can come home with me, baby," Ovechkin drawls. His hand creeps up the inside of Jonny's knee and Brent thinks, or rather says aloud, "Hulk smash!"

"Pop his lid off," Nilsson's voice chirps. Brent can't see him and figures he's in the middle of an orgy or something. That, or he's imagining things, but the vote of confidence is more than welcome. In his haste to get to Jonny, Brent runs over Marty St. Louis, spills Antoine Vermette's drink, and ends up landing in an awkward pile with half his weight on Ovechkin's thigh. He can see up Ovechkin's skirt, and is decidedly not aroused.

"Jonny, don't do it!" he gasps. Jonny looks confused, disentangling himself from Ovechkin's octopus fingers and reaching down to haul Brent up.

"What's the matter? I just wanted to learn--"

"It's just that, I really like you," Brent says too loudly. "Because I know you're a really great person and I don't just want to get into your pants, and I'm also not a Capital. What the fuck is a Capital, right? And, uh--I like you!"

Jonny is blinking his big dark doe eyes at Brent while climbing to his feet. "You're drunk," he reasons patiently.

"Oh yeah," Brent agrees, then leans forward and kisses him. Fortunately, Jonny grabs him by the shoulders and kisses him back, and also Jonny knows how to use the right amount of tongue so it's not like being woken up by a Saint Bernard, but definitely communicates that he's interested in the situation. Brent gets lost, partially because he's pretty sure he's misplaced all sense of time but also because this is the best feeling ever, except for hockey. Jonny's hands are bruisingly tight on his shoulder, but then he moves a few steps towards Brent so that they're all tight together and--and Jonny is kind of soft, in all the right ways.

"Huh," Jonny murmurs, chest moving against Brent's own. "You lost a sock."

"I'm really drunk," Brent agrees. "You're so pretty."

Jonny laughs, open-mouthed and delighted. "Fucking right," he says and twines his fingers through Brent's. "Let's get you to bed, Seabs."

Brent falls headfirst into the wall and Jonny is consumed by a fit of laughter when they try to get the key card into the lock, but they make it back to a room that is not filled with other drunken idiots, so Brent thinks that it's a victorious quest. He sprawls out on nearest bed and burps once, loudly. "Okay, I can take it from here."

"S'my room," Jonny retorts, crawling over him to turn off the bedside lamp. "Go to sleep." Brent stretches his arms up against the headboard and his toes down over the end of the mattress and sighs his biggest sigh. Jonny is still shifting around, tugging free a blanket and kissing Brent's forehead and jaw without any real intent. 

"Also, I like you too," he adds into Brent's shoulder.

"So we can fool around?" Brent asks hopefully. But Jonny is already snoring.

Brent wakes up next to the sound of someone making loud shushing noises close to his ear. He opens one eye and sees Jonny's back, which means that Jonny is not facing him but still fucking loud enough to wake him up. Brent thinks he might not yet be sober, but Jonny chooses that moment to go, "Please, please, I promise it'll be okay, just maybe you should get tested--"

Brent sits upright, because when Jonny pauses to take a breath, he can hear Duncan's signature wail of anguish in the background. He reaches around Jonny, up under his arm to grab at the Blackberry Jonny is holding in front of him, shouting, "I'm coming, Dunc, I'll save you!"

"You're not helping," Jonny hisses.

"I think I broke him," Duncan whimpers. "I think I fractured his vagina."

"With what?" Brent asks. Jonny hits him, right in the nose. "I mean, did you--is he like, there? Who the fuck is he? Are you sitting next to him and crying, 'cuz we talked about this, Dunc." 

"No, Rick DiPietro is not here," Duncan sighs, and there's a long pause where Brent can hear Duncan's trembly breathing. "We were just kissing and, you know--"

"Stuff happened," Jonny inserts tensely.

"And then I was all, hey baby, want to get naked and I rubbed my--"

"And then he pulled his groin?" Jonny interjects again. Brent suddenly gets that maybe Jonny doesn't want to know all the grisly details, which is surprising. He always figured that Jonny was totally interested in every part of their lives, because Jonny never told him to shut up when he was talking about his awesome dance moves or all the hot chicks' numbers he got.

"No, then we moved to the bed and he was on top because I didn't want him really touching the sheets, and then I rubbed my thigh--" Jonny coughs loudly, covering up the next few words, "--and then he screamed! In anguish! So I helped him put his shirt on and set him out in the hallway," Duncan finishes.

"Dude, you're such a player," Brent says, kind of impressed. "That's totally badass."

"I think he forgot his panties. Do you think he'll want them back?" Duncan asks miserably.

"You got lesbian street cred now," Brent continues cheerfully. Jonny mimes retching at him, which shouldn't make Brent's stomach clench as tight as it does. He tunes back in to Duncan's quiet sobs. "You gonna be okay, buddy?"

"I'm going to go shower in bleach," Duncan groans, but his voice is back down to its normal pitch. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Jonny flops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. Brent starts to think he's fallen asleep, and then Jonny whispers, "fractured his vagina," and his lips twitch upwards. Brent thinks about it some more, and starts laughing, because he kind of pictures DiPietro's girly bits as something out of Alien, which is gross but also really funny.

During Gary Bettman's press conference the next morning, the ticker at the bottom of the screen announces that that Rich Harden has signed a two-year contract extension, that the NHL has temporarily halted all play due to a situation regarding player health, and that Rick DiPietro has an unconfirmed lower body injury. Jonny makes that same puking face again, and Brent puts himself in danger of joining the IR by exploding his stomach with joy.

From the floor, Kaner looks up from his game of Pokemon Platinum. "I don't get it," he says. In the background, Bettman adds, "We always have confidence in our game and our fans.... This may be a new era, but we've opened a dialogue to--"

Duncan, brushing his hair on the other bed, glares at Kaner. "Hey, man, shut up. I'm having a lot of trouble dealing with this--" he starts. Brent beams.

"I love you, man," Brent offers. Jonny snorts, but doesn't seem jealous, which is when Brent starts to think that whatever they've got between them might work.

 

***

 

By the time that one a.m. has rolled around, Brent and Jonny have the entire room to themselves. Jonny is on his stomach watching the news on TV, which is boring, so Brent is playing tic-tac-toe with himself on Jonny's back. Jonny shivers and calls him a retard every time Brent draws an X at the place where the muscles of Jonny's back flow together in two neat lines, near the base of his spine.

"Seriously, stop it," Jonny says as the community news segment comes on, rolling onto his back and trapping one of Brent's hands beneath him. "You're driving me nuts, Seabs."

"Do you remember that we made out after Ovechkin tried to girl-molest you?" Brent asks. Jonny gapes at him and Brent decides it's much safer to avoid eye contact.

"Is that a serious question?" Jonny asks at last. "Did you just use 'girl-molest' in a real question?"

"Uh, maybe," Brent mumbles. He hopes Jonny's not going to smack him, and is rewarded when Jonny gets in close and feathers a kiss against the ridge of his cheekbone. Brent grunts hopefully and Jonny wiggles closer, spreads his fingers wide over Brent's neck and leans forward to kiss him again.

"How do I know you weren't girl-molesting me too?" Jonny asks. Brent personally thinks the whole thing is a non-issue at this point, and shrugs.

"Well, I'm not a girl," he offers helpfully. Jonny laughs, launches himself forward to straddle Brent, and laces their fingers together. He tugs Brent's hands up, leans down. Brent can see down Jonny's shirt, so he's all for being manhandled. "And you are. So it's only--half--and, uh. I don't even know."

Jonny hums, taking his time kissing down to the neck of Brent's t-shirt and back up. "You're kind of retarded, Seabs," he says very fondly. This time, his kiss has a little extra tongue in it. Brent is motivated by the warmth of his full-body rush, and well-trained from years and years of UFC fighting with Sharpy and Duncan. He rolls them over, stretches himself out against the length of Jonny's side and lets himself run his palm over Jonny's flat abs.

"Okay, uh, I know you're a man, but I'mma treat you like a lady," he says. 

From this close with his hand on Jonny's stomach, Brent can feel the trembles of a suppressed laugh. Jonny leans his head back (oh, that long line of neck--) and smiles lazily up at him, saying, "Hey, you can actually do whatever you want."

Brent takes this as an invitation to nip under Jonny's ear. Jonny smells like soap and tastes like sweat and makes a tiny, breathy noise with his mouth closed. He arches up into Brent's touch and Brent cops a feel outright, stroking his thumb roughly across Jonny's breasts before his palm cups and cradles. Jonny sighs sharply, twists around and props his heels up higher on the bed. "Fuck, Seabs," he sighs.

Brent leans down, preparing to get rid of that whole girl-shirt thing and really get down to business, when there's a sharp knock at the door. He freezes and Jonny's eyes go even wider, pretty much all pupil now, stark against his flushed cheeks. Jonny gestures him silent, but it's not like Brent needs a second hint. They stay frozen, Brent's hands shaking from the repressed need to touch and Jonny breathing shallowly against his fingertips. There's another, louder knock.

And then, "Dude!" yelled from beyond the door. Jonny's eyes roll up in frustration. Kaner bangs again. "Dude, dude, it's a party. I know you're in there. I'm tracking your cell phone. Don't make me climb in through your balcony, you'll never forgive yourself if I get arrested doing a Spiderman."

Jonny groans audibly and reluctantly extracts himself from Brent. "Hang on. I'll tell him that we'll show up once we're finished," he promises. Brent lays back and intently observes the way Jonny's hips sway as he walks toward the door.

"Seriously, Jonny, I've called you like thirty times," Kaner whines, once Jonny opens up.

"Yeah, I'm just finishing up with something," Jonny hums. Brent grins, shifts to sit up more. "But I'll be right--"

"No fucking way, you look all--weird. Don't go to sleep, man." Brent hears Jonny yelp in protest, moves over to see Kaner octopus-gripping Jonny. "Come on. I'll get you a drink."

"Fuck, fuck--" Jonny mutters and glances back. Brent notices that his lips are red and swollen, and he swallows hard. "I'll see you there," Jonny mouths sadly.

"Fucking Kaner," Brent says aloud, "fucking cockblocker." He peels off his socks, cracks open the minibar and downs the vodka before he follows.

The party's in Sidney Crosby's room, apparently, and it's already in full swing by the time Brent arrives. He edges through the propped-open bathroom door and finds Crosby balanced on the back of the toilet, nursing a beer and looking petulant. He grabs two bottles from the ice-filled bathtub for himself and forces himself to smile.

"Great party, man," he offers.

"All I did was agree to play Twister with Ovechkin and Colby Armstrong," Sidney replies morosely. He crumples his can and lobs it at the garbage can. "How am I going to go to bed now."

"Sucks," Seabs agrees, then grabs another three beers and heads out into the main room. Marc and Eric Staal are bouncing on one of the beds and Rick Nash is holding court in a nail-painting session on the other. Brent scans the rest of the room, hoping that neither Duncan nor Jonny are on the floor being trampled by the feet of opposing players. He catches sight of Kaner, balanced on a table with a lampshade on his head. (It's been like ten minutes, Brent thinks, could Kaner get that trashed in ten minutes? He discards the thought process because Kaner is either always too wasted or too sober for anyone's safety.) Then he spots Jonny talking to Mike Richards, Joe Sakic, and Jarome Iginla out on the balcony.

Ducking in behind them, pressed tight between the glass and Jonny's butt (which has not changed, despite any other addition/subtraction equations), he murmurs, "Am I interrupting a captain conference?"

Jonny laughs and leans back against him in greeting. "You could never interrupt me, Seabs," he says generously. Brent wonders how much Jonny can drink in ten minutes, then remembers that Jonny is a college-trained boy. Brent hopes 9-1-1 is a universal number, because Jonny, Sakic, Iginla and Richards are all calf-deep in cans, and he can't be sure what belongs to who. "Turns out the party's just started. I was invited to play Never Have I Ever, want to come?"

Brent ends up sandwiched between Jonny and Dion Phaneuf, and wonders if Jonny is going to notice that they're still holding hands, but Jonny seems to be distracted with being a secret filthpot. After drinking through the easy questions (Jonny has: been to Europe, gone to school in Canada, gone to college, had a blowjob, had sex, and been groped by the captain of a NHL team...), Jonny doesn't seem inclined to notice much of anything.

Jonny does lean over to murmur, "I'm not forgetting where we left off," during a brief lull in the round. Brent chokes on his mouthful of vodka and grins through the pain.

"Never have I ever," says Wade Redden, "kissed a man."

Brent thinks about it as Jonny drinks comfortably and Gilbert calls Burish out on being a liar. It's not really making out with a girl if the girl is named Jonathan Toews, his brain concludes, and drains the last of his glass before knocking it against Phaneuf's two-litre bottle of Grey Goose for a refill.

Then things get confusing. Marian Hossa claims that his honour has been affronted, Mike Comrie turns up wearing a tutu over his jeans-and-hoodie combo, and Simon Gagne discovers A Walk To Remember on the hotel's movie network.

Then things get just plain weird. Brent learns that the NHL captain who groped Jonny is Steve Yzerman--Jonny leans in very close to his ear and whispers, "I know it doesn't really count because he's retired, but you know, he's a pretty big deal. He said I had a nice butt."--and Kaner comes in near tears, swearing there's an alien out in the hallway. (Brent learns later that Henrik Sedin was seen heading in the opposite direction near tears because a scary midget screamed and lashed out at him with a praying mantis move.) Then the hotel manager shows up and Jonny straight up jumps into Brent's lap, before Burish moves in to rescue them and shepherd them all back to Marty's room.

Marty is passed out in his bathtub, cuddling one of the free hotel bathrobes and humming softly. Brent is pretty sure that no one was this drunk when the night started, but Marty has left his minibar unlocked, and it's safer to split a bottle of whiskey with Jonny than to wonder where Burish and Gilbert went after they left Marty's room. Jonny strokes Brent's hair gently, shifts closer to him and stretches out on the floor.

"I'm just going to lay down," Jonny announces. Sam Gagner, who's already made himself a blanket fort on one of the beds, hums in agreement. Brent doesn't know what happens next, except that he finds himself stretching out too.

"Everything is awesome," he says. "Guys, everything--" and falls asleep.

 

***

 

Brent wakes up with his face pressed into the carpet at the foot of a hotel bed. One of his legs is numb and his mouth tastes like gauze. To his right, he hears a broken groan that sounds a lot like Burish. To his left, the bed creaks twice and the blankets rustle. The sunlight is blinding and when Brent moves his arm, he hits three empty bottles of cheap champagne. That explains a lot. Brent whimpers loudly, clears his throat.

"Fuuuuck me," Jonny whines from somewhere very close by.

Brent nods and pats blindly in Jonny's direction, hoping to squeeze his hand. His brain catches up to his body before he can come into contact with anything but (sick, slightly damp) carpet, and he thinks about Jonny's voice. "Tazer?"

There's a grunt. It's low and gravelly and Brent is pretty sure that the sudden surging of his stomach isn't entirely related to the killer hangover looming over him.

"Jonny, are you like--"

"Jesus Christ, Seabs, what the fuck," Jonny snaps. His voice is definitely really low. Brent pushes himself up until he can see more than cheap woven synthetic carpeting, and gets a long look at Jonny's disheveled hair, his smoothly curved ears, the squareness of his jaw and the way his shoulder muscles rise up against the downward slant of his head. And the stubble.

Brent hauls himself closer, knocks his forehead against Jonny's. "Tazer, Tazer, Tazer," he whispers rapid-fire.

"Goddammit, Seabs, they're never going to find your body," Jonny rasps. Brent licks his cheek, then kisses his cheekbone.

"You're a fucking dude, man, wake up." Jonny sits up suddenly, blinking owlishly and pawing at his eyes. "Definitely a dude," Brent repeats.

"Wow," Jonny says. His hand trails down his neck, scratches at his chest.

"Brent?" Duncan asks from the other side of the bed. His voice is wavering. "Something's wrong."

"Right," Jonny corrects him, still slightly dazed. "Something is right."

"I keep changing," Duncan wails, higher pitched than his previously female form. "I--I don't know what to do!"

From under the mound of blankets on the bed, there's a series of soft scuffling noises before both Gagner and Kaner poke their heads out. Brent has the brief fear that he's going to see way too much of Gagner, but the blankets slide down only to reveal Kaner's pajamas and Sam's Underarmour shirt, now stretched tight over his broadened shoulders. "Why am I awake?" Sam asks.

"Man," Jonny points out. He's kind of smiling.

"Cool," Sam mumbles, then disappears back under the blankets. "Need five more hours'a rest, mmkay?"

"But who will I grope now?" Kaner asks plaintively. He worms his way down to the floor to paw at Duncan's hair, then pads off towards the bathroom. "Marty? But--where are your--today is a bad day."

An hour later, Marty is uncharacteristically fully dressed and pale when he stumbles in with eight coffees and a croissant. "I hate you all," he grumbles. 

Brent doesn't move fast enough to get one of the coffees, but he does snag a long drink from Jonny's cup. The morning sun seems to be receding from that sharp place behind his eyes, thank god, and Brent slumps against the bed and yawns.

The coffee has cured Kaner's confusion and sadness. "I bet drinking is what cured you. Or--or did anyone have a random hookup that led to, like, waking up sleeping beauty? You know, like, the magic of this whole magical experience was to understand how the softer sex lives, and now that you got nailed like a woman--"

"Do you smoke crack?" Marty hisses. Brent glances at Jonny out of the corner of his eye and bites his lip. Jonny doesn't move a muscle, not even the little tiny one just above his eyebrow that he normally uses when he's judging Kaner silently.

"At least we can go back to hockey now," Jonny finally says, and smiles for real. He stands, stretches. Brent is confused to find himself studying the pull of Jonny's stomach muscles. "Can someone lend me a pair of pants? Fuck."

Brent is pretty sure that everyone sleeps through the last player meeting (awesomegasmic party, if only they had league-sponsored get-togethers more often), because on the plane ride home, no one can figure out exactly what was said. Jonny doesn't even ask before settling his head on Brent's shoulder, but he does kind of nuzzle his cheek into Brent's sleeve before dozing off. Brent gives himself a stern talking-to, using the phrases "not gay like Burish" and "how long would Dunc cry about that one." He sleeps fitfully and wakes only when Jonny is straddling him, trying to get over him into the aisle.

"See you on the ice," Jonny murmurs, and then he's gone. Brent wonders if the whole thing is some kind of second-hand drug trip from hanging out with Kaner too much. He also can't figure out why his bed feels all big and empty that night.

 

***

 

Their first game back goes to OT after a 5-5 tie. Brent spends the entire time feeling haunted. Duncan's lower lip trembles in the dressing room when he studies his hands, and Kaner is even wilder than usual during postgame interviews. Through it all, Jonny is tall and skinny-but-muscled and serious. Captainly. Brent gets confused when he catches himself watching too closely and noticing the way Jonny's eyelashes move when he blinks, but Brent also figures that he'll get over it.

Jonny knocks elbows with him after the showers, and Brent is relieved to find that he still has to tilt his head down to smile at Jonny. "I figured I'd pick up something and head over to your place? We can watch Die Hard and drink away the muscle spasms." Brent's thigh, protesting sharply to its sudden re-entry into the world of professional athletics after their little girl-incident break, chooses that moment to twitch.

"I got beer," he agrees, grinning down at Jonny. "And Bruce Willis."

"'Kay," Jonny says, tone pleased. Brent can't figure out if it's the same kind of cue when guy-Jonny looks him in the eyes a little too long, which means that he's also unsure if they're sharing a moment or just appreciating guy stuff together.

Jonny gets crappy microwave pizza because he's secretly a cheap-ass. He drops down on the couch, close enough that Brent can feel the coolness of the beer Jonny has pressed on his own knee, and Brent successfully fights the urge to fidget. Stuff is just blowing up and getting awesome when Brent's attention turns back to Jonny, who is watching him with his wide-eyed, gameday-focus expression.

"What's up?" he asks. His voice kind of cracks. 

Jonny leans in, just barely kisses Brent's lower lip. He stays silent, but Brent feels the urge to speak bubbling out of him like a volcano of gayness. "So I really liked you, like, as a friend and everything, but I also thought you were hot as a girl, but I think you're still actually kind of hot. Which is pretty weird, I know, because I always figured I'd be a Keanu Reeves kind of guy, not that he's a good actor but, you know, he looks kind of like a girl so I figured if it was a fuck or die thing--" he pauses, sucks in a huge breath. "You didn't change that much," he finishes in a hush.

Jonny's whole face gets soft and smiley and he leans in again. This time he doesn't quite close the distance, and Brent figures that if this isn't a fake-out, he'd better get in on the action himself. Jonny's nose mashes against his a little bit and Brent is fighting back a hiccup, but he doesn't feel like stopping and Jonny's hand is suddenly cool against his neck. Jonny kisses him like he kind of expects Brent to be a girl, which is funny, but also with the technical experience that Brent expects from a captain. Captain, with a capital C.

"I'm glad you're not a girl any more," he says, first chance he gets.

"Yeah, now I can treat you like a lady too," Jonny says cheerfully. Then he turns off the TV, so Brent knows things are getting serious.

 

THE END


End file.
